Natalie Yacobson - Rhianon-9. The Birth of the Dragon

«Oh, that…» Orpheus brushed the pesky memory aside. «I wouldn’t like to be like them.»

«Perhaps you are less guilty, and I am attracted to vice. There’s more of it in Madaael, so I choose him. He could have been a golden dragon, too.»

«Did he tell you?» Orpheus frowned and began counting something on his fingers, as if he were shuffling invisible cards again. «Of course he told you. You shared a bed with him,» he grimaced hostilely. «I don’t know that. I’m not a man, and I’ve never tried anything like that until now, but they say all secrets are revealed in bed.»

«Did you want me and you to check it out?» She arrogantly arched her eyebrows.

«Well, yes,» he hesitated.

«I think it’s a good thing we didn’t, or you’d have told me all your little secrets, and then you’d have been sorry. I wouldn’t have tolerated the presence of a howling spirit behind my back.»

Rhianon was not surprised that, for all his good looks, he had not yet been able to seduce any girl. His garrulity would have put any girl off. No one wants to end up in bed with a lunatic, even one so pretty. One look at the way his eyes occasionally sparkle with wild fire, like facets of cold jewels, and you no longer doubt that in the morning he could slit your throat if you were in the same bed with him. Orpheus could kill, cripple, and trick you without even realizing that he had done something wrong. He was a typical madman. Rhianon turned her back on him with disdain.

«Now leave me alone,» she demanded. «I have a feast to get ready for.»

«Ah, yes, there are still celebrations in your majesty’s honor,» Orpheus mocked in a mellifluous tone. «Since when have usurpers like you or your winged betrothed been unselfishly celebrated?»

«Since I became queen,» she cut off, picking out an outfit. She liked the one brocade dress with the ermine best. The faeries had already unlaced her corset to help her change, and Orpheus was furious.

«Not long ago you’d have been turned away just to get rid of the rightful heiress. And if it weren’t for Conrad’s passion, you might have been declared insane and imprisoned in a tower. The dungeons beneath the keep are excellent, damp, dirty and cold, and full of creatures of all kinds, including those of unearthly origin. If you tell anyone about your time with the winged creatures, you’ll be deemed insane.»

«I have the power on my side now,» she retorted.

That silenced him for a moment.

Already dressed in her sumptuous ceremonial attire, Rhianon listened to the sounds that filled the castle. The general cacophony almost made her ears ache. The heralds’ trumpets were blowing, the kitchens were clinking, footmen and cooks were fussing, and the guests were preparing for the feast. To think how many whispers, sounds, and voices could fill one castle. Otherworldly beings were swarming too, but Rhianon didn’t listen to them. She was on her way to feast with the humans.

Douglas refused to help her. He was captivated by the girl. He would not harm Rhianon for any money or promises. Hildegard herself thought with regret that she would no longer be such a beauty, but she was faced with a choice. Which was sweeter: the lips and long lashes and languid glances of the devil’s mistress or the power? Anyone who was smart would have chosen the latter.

Had Douglas learned of her plans, he would have been dangerous. He might have blabbed everything to Rhianon. So it was worth using all her charms to weave a sorcerer’s web around the tower so that no one’s thoughts could penetrate it. No sorcerer could understand what she was doing.

The witch potions and potions in Hildegard’s jars were running out. And there were no ingredients to make new ones yet. They were too difficult to obtain. She had to go to the cemetery and dig in the places where she could hear claws clawing under the ground and nocturnal creatures. The bones they nibbled in the graves were perhaps the most necessary, just as the seed of the hangmen or the mandrake growing under the feet of the hanged. She needed many things to maintain her witchcraft arsenal. Talented magicians use their charms; she had to act more like a witch doctor. No potions, no effect. She could only conjure using formulas given to her by others.

Pheba, the witch doctor of the village, was another matter. She had recently been brought in by Velicia, one of Hildegard’s special friends. She had long been bewitching suitors for court ladies, or casting spells. If Hildegard could have given her a golden lock of Rhianon, she would have done so. It was a pity she had only managed to comb a few hairs out of the strands of the newfound queen. But even those should have been enough.

Rhianon is a queen, but her age is short. Hildegard decided to take care of it. She tried not to miss a single detail, even the most insignificant. Pheba’s efforts alone did not seem enough to her. She could have done something herself. If only Rhianon would accept gifts from her. How easy it would have been to slip her poison and spell-soaked things. Such jewelry would have killed her faster than any knife. Yet Hildegard also hoped for a conspirators’ knife. As a last resort, it was not a sin to rely on them either. Just as long as, after the death of one queen, they decided to support a new one. There seemed to be no other candidate but Hildegard. She could be confident in her powers and still she had doubts. Lately she had felt like she was on pins and needles. Her skin prickled and her eyes stung, as if she’d seen the fallen angel firsthand. Until now she had only noticed the ugly burnt limbs that sometimes peeped out of the grave earth, heard the moans and rustling of wings at the bottom of the well, noticed the inhuman footprints beside the tree of the hanged man. The supernatural was very close and yet she never really came into contact with it until she saw Rhianon return and realized how much she had changed. It was as if she were no longer human at all. There was an unearthly grandeur about her. Had she been in the arms of a fallen angel and become an angel herself? But Rhianon has no wings. She must still be mortal.

Rhianon will die. There will be no more of her seductive lips, no more of her expressive calm eyes, no more of her slender frame that you want to embrace. There will be no more temptation. Rhianon is an irresistible temptation, for men and women alike. Yet she herself is neither a woman nor an angel, but something indescribable. She is above everything. Such a being should be removed from the world as a filth, so that it would not seduce anyone else.

Hildegard smiled at the sight of the toads on her table. They sat next to empty vials of witch ointment. This substance attracted them and helped the black flowers bloom right on the tabletop. Everything gloomy is so beautiful. Black is the best color in the world. Why the need for a gamut of other hues when there is blackness. Now Hildegard despised herself for succumbing to a momentary impulse and trying on something purple. Only black suited her. And it was her favorite color, after all.

The color of the grave is also black, but the creature came from the cemetery was white and winged. Hildegard was already nauseated at the thought of being close to it. Why? After all, she has Velicia. Even though angels have female faces, women themselves are still more beautiful and seductive. To be with them is far more pleasant than with a cold piece of marble. And killing them was just as pleasant. She loved the feel of their warm blood on her neck, not the thick sludge that flowed from the corpse of her last lover.

She would not make the same mistake again. Nor would she feel pity for Rhianon. She paid Pheba in gold to make the spell particularly thorough. Rhianon would lose all her beauty and rot alive if she did it the right way, and she would beg for death. And in the end she will die. That’s it, no more angel. There’s no need for one on earth. Loretta is for mortals. This is no place for winged creatures.